San Sebastian Film Festival — A–Z of films

Martelli carefully crafts an air of almost casual dread.

Simón takes a loose approach to the narrative, letting the small dramas of family play out alongside larger ones, giving as much value to the transient pleasures of fresh peach juice and cooked snails as the tensions between siblings.

Darín excels in this complicated role, revealing his character layer by layer, almost in passing, as the story of the atrocities unfolds.

Iñárritu is very capable – one might even say brilliant – but has no idea how to restrain himself.

In long, slow takes, Sorogoyen lets the tension build, one situation after another seeming as if it might spill over into violence.

Although this film has no body count, it carries with it all the danger of an erotic thriller.

More pedantic than poetic, making for an unfulfilling watch.

For most of the running time, the film is warm and light-hearted, despite viewers’ steadily growing awareness that it might end in bloodshed.

Although Gurrea’s film is booby trapped for explosions, he repeatedly chooses the more interesting slow-burn path.

Vicky Krieps...is in excellent form and up to the task of presenting to us the icon in all her idiosyncrasies.

Cronenberg, a seemingly gentle soul on the surface, remains tortured by the possibilities of technology and how it may tear us apart.

Baumeister shows how easy it is for a child to latch on to fantasy when reality is so tough.

The plotting is completely incoherent and balanced atop a trembling tower of absurdities.

While the framing of cinematographer Gerardo Guerra has a steady calm, González uses every inch of it from side to side and top to bottom to such a consummate degree that even the subtitles have to make way at one point.

Slow to build and with an assembly of characters who are all more complex than they seem on the surface, Drive My Car exemplifies Japan’s growing body of literary cinema.

The seemingly warm family idyll becomes a cage in the face of the communication deficiencies between the characters.

To refer to something as ‘pure cinema’ is uninspired, but Godland is one of those rare films that has some untranslatable quality that speaks for itself.

In places, dark humour seeps into the film like the rot around the hotel windows.

The past intrudes on the present in flashback, and though the moves between the periods are worked smoothly enough, the film feels torn between showing one perspective and the other while struggling to marry the two.

In less adept hands this could have become a clash of content but Václav keeps all his elements in balance, managing to celebrate the beauty of opera on the one hand while showing us uglier mini dramas playing out at the front and back of house.

The use of a bike that is simultaneously broken and enhanced is a perfect encapsulation of the idea of things being caught between two states in the film.

The deliberate airlessness - which finds contrast in the likes of Miss Harris' joy at her first knickerbocker glory - works well initially, but as Nighy has less screen time and the film slips into considerations of the switch in Williams' life in the past tense, it drifts towards the stagey.

Director Fabian Hernández, making his feature début, demonstrates a fondness for close-ups and keeps the narrative close to Carlos as well.

Nothing in Palermo’s film is sugar-coated, although a sweetness runs through it.

Southern and Lovelace stick to a fashionable, tastefully minimalist aesthetic, but they play it too safe – this is a film that deserves maximalist energy.

In this kaleidoscope life, montage becomes an essential tool, illustrating not only the artist’s own work but his many influences, along with the immediate context in which he was living.

Guzmán doesn’t need to hunt for symbolism as the protesters are often supplying their own.

Seydoux is superb as she runs the emotional gamut with subtlety and empathy, demonstrating an extraordinary survival spirit in complicated circumstances.

The languid mood contrasts with the most dangerous topics.

Martyrdom and bad wishing, casual cruelty and sweet despair reign in this realm.

Full of beautifully observed details, it’s as sensual as it is provocative, and makes room for its characters to unfurl naturally.

Galán is extraordinary as the traumatised girl in a performance which requires a considerable amount of courage.

Whereas most prison films focus on strife, it’s the gradually developing friendship which forms the bedrock of the film.

De Filippis understands the value of the small stuff.

What really lights up the film is the chemistry between the boys and their wider circle of friends.

It’s Lerman’s shooting style which makes the biggest impression.

If there’s a lack of fluidity as Dehkordi moves between the various elements of his drama, there’s also plenty of signs he can turn on the style.

Writer/director Carmen Jacquier explores this ideological and psychological clash with confidence and visual flair.

While exploitation is expertly outlined, the directors are never exploitative themselves in the way it is depicted.

Almost every part of this slowburn road to not quite the middle of nowhere could be read either as a clue or a clever maguffin.

A roller-coaster of the effects of absolute power corrupting absolutely.

Although the drama itself has a generally naturalistic feel, striking visuals embellish the spirit of all those things that are just beyond that realm.

Young star Paul Kircher puts in an impressively sensitive and emotionally raw peformance.

Pugh's performance, which dovetails nicely with newcomer Cassidy’s devout determination as Anna, can’t quite overcome the uneven plotting and, at times, flimsy characterisation.